The optimistic side of me wants
to believe that my fear
keeps me safe.
That there's a reason I
check over my shoulder at the slightest
Noise.
That it’s just the caffeine
making my heart flutter. That
if I reject comfort and live
my life with my hair standing on
End,
that will somehow ward off
disaster.
That there's a meaning to
the snuff films I get it
4k anytime I
Dare
to close my eyes. That locking
my door eight times a night is a
positive trait, because I just want
to keep my family safe.
Baking was not an option,
long gone were the days (and nights!) of crème brûlée and bûche noël.
Such delicacies have taken a more...paternalistic
approach,
abstaining stove-works entirely,
however slippery,
often guided by such vintage luminarians as Einstein's popular 'words to live by' & action-tropes by the enticing acrobatic authors,
J & L Bird.
Various interlopers, actual or imaginary, instantly
stiffened to attention once the oven-door was opened and the klaxon bell engaged.
Ceremoniously, once alert, all in attendance
(rubber black-rats excluded) turned towards
shelved rainbow rivers of irises (plasic, of course!) and with goodwill (and smiles) together recited the Lord's Prayer,
and departed.
Dedicated to Clarky & his loving support team, you know who you are...
03/19/22
7:18pm
james marshall goff
Got kold hatred in their eyes,
so kadaver kold
The killer gaze kuickly komes alive,
whenever the wrong kolor
neighborly arrive
Kagily enter into the dark domain Kape Fear,
where brothas ain’t burning cross welcome here
Mister Kady,
the kosplay kaptain
of kritter kontrol,
tells your kiddie litter
he don’t like none of you
Come midnight soon,
he’s gonna
put down the Dalmatian brood
The spotted faces,
whose pupils has the wrong hue
They were last seen on Koroner Avenue
Feel the malicious mood
of Kape Fear
Where sista mothers have been known
to disappear
Mister Kady,
and his kruel krew,
love to wear their Kasper kostume
Go terrorize the wrong kolor kind
on night patrol
Frighten every eklipse-kolored soul
One thing is kondor certain
in Kape Fear
It’s so vulture true —
The alabastard apparitions
wanna ghost
a widow veil few
Nether exit the violent-coated vanilla vista,
kuaintly known as Kape Fear
Dirt taste the blatant hatred
blaring klaxon loud and klear
It’s kondone toxic
to the wrong kolored ear
08-30-21
Auto Pilate
is carrion klaxon blaring
a false viral alert
The warning signal says cadavers don’t vote:
“Let not your lying eyes
believe this smear currency contagious hoax”
With pandemic fear spreading,
speculator pockets get fatally hurt
False profits on a spit propellor decline
Supplies warehouse withering on a purchase vine,
bad news ain’t getting no spin message rebate
As more people dying are multiplying
Autocratic vexation —
Viral cause is venture capitalist absolutely dismissed
Free market con-fidence in a virtual free-fall
Publican procrastinators watch
as the body count mount
The price of human life don’t add up to much
Global crisis ... impending plane of imminence crash
Priceless products in the debt cargo hold were sold
at a discount infection rate
Auto Pilate hollow hope cry,
while washing disdain stained hands:
“High kill yield is a ghastly good time to buy!”
You were born on the eve
of the silent drone tracer lights
Three hours before the bombs first fell
This would be the only peace
your war baby eyes would ever see
Destruction was the sound of your tattered
and rattling nursery
You learned to walk among the rubble and debris
You learned to talk amid the klaxon alarms blaring incessantly
Fear soured your mother's milk daily,
as the bombs kept falling nonstop
Your war baby eyes
only saw heaven as fire in the sky
Death greeted you from the first moment you arrived,
it took your sister that day at night
Your war baby eyes,
and your numbed infant cries,
made loving you a luxury
Just surviving was a miracle indeed
Sad war baby eyes
can still be seen in the man you've become
Peace forever elusive, still you seek to see
where the unending pain came from
And, now I lay me down to sleep,
For another wretched night of counting sheep!
Lord, should I expire before I awake,
Please allow me some zzzzzzzzs for heavens sake!
The cat has leaped upon the bed,
And snuggles closely nigh my head,
Purring as loud as a Mack truck diesel engine,
Then bounces on my chest like a frenzied injun!
The neighbors' worthless mutts begin their nightly serenade.
It sounds as if outside my window there's a whole brigade!
For awhile things settle down and all is as quiet as a mouse,
Until I'm awakened by the thunderous snoring of my spouse!
The blaring klaxon of the midnight freight is heard a mile away.
The inconsiderate engineer lays on the horn as if it were a runaway.
To top it all the crickets begin their atonal chirping prattle.
I'm beginning to think a good nights sleep is a losing battle!
I shove ear plugs in my ears but they don't do a bit of good.
The clock strikes three so it looks like sleep ain't a liklihood.
Lord, again I make a plea that should I decease before I wake,
Please, won't you allow me some zzzzzzzzs for heavens sake!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
It was an ordinary kind of day,
You had left me to go to work
And drop off Denny at school
A factory klaxon was sounding
In the distance; and I pictured the
Morning shift dragging the night's
Dreams inside
Outside, the peach trees we had
Just planted, bowed to each other,
As though acknowledging their taste
And then that picture on the mantelpiece
Brought night in to the breezy light room,
Tugging at my shirt collar like a debt
But I turned away to the blue sky; and
The bowing peach trees asked why?
woo-nano-nano singularity hacks minds don’t let it take yours
WINDY DAY IN THE CITY
Strain unwillingly round the city street corner
Into flurry of police klaxon-horn or
Double-deck bus or hobo with beard a-grizzle.
Saddened people rushing in the drizzle,
Wet wind picking up, weather getting worse.
Breezy gust snatches a thousand leaves to disperse
From the autumn trees barely awake:
Sudden blizzard of giant golden snowflakes
Obliterates the wet sidewalks, paved with gold.
People smiling, surprised at it all, pause and behold,
Brush them off shoulders again and again.
Ah the glory of it. No one thinks of rain.
Never was a transformation done so well :
A heaven snatched from the jaws of hell.
Sometimes a whisper,
desperate to join the real world
calls out from the tower,
the cry of many memories trapped
within the egron of time.
Sometimes! Deafen by the silence
one hears the exhaust fans
out of balance, a simmering
smoke stack exhale,
rutunda roaster tumble,
seductive klaxon wail
spent bean silo rumble.
Alas! The same stars still shine,
the same moon reflects,
as one feels again, the innuendos
extracted out of the very shadows,
that linger within the walls that
surround this place. Profoundly
this void, this vacuum of personification
guides me as one follows one’s
inculcation through the labyrinth
of reasoning, where recollections
pass by in a moment of blithe,
an instant of reverberation
spray dried in a cascade of
fine blend, evaporated within a
classic symphony, harmonies of
years, sweat and tears grounded
out of an idea.
Yet spent! Like the rest of us.
© Harry J Horsman 2000
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